Kismet
by DearSweetPapercut
Summary: "A letter had brought him back; just words. It seemed bizarre that scrawled hand writing, on almost crumpled paper had pulled him across oceans." Challenge.


So Charlie told me that no one had written a fic inspired by 'When I was Your Man' by Bruno Mars because it would have been cheesy. But I was determined that was not the case. Here is what I came up with.

Please review, let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I own zilch.

**Kismet **

There are places you can't go alone. And it's the sad truth about many of the smaller things in life. The feel of the newspaper ink beneath your finger tips only reminds you that there is no one to read the stories to. And that your muffled laughs are not to be heard or questioned by anyone since you are living with nothing but a ghost. The only things that remain to keep you company are the echoing sounds of your own footstep and the chatter of people you do not care for on the television.

The sound of his heart beat seemed to fill his ears as the world melted into a strange haze despite the efforts of all the bright lights to burn into his consciousness. If he was honest with himself he didn't know why he had decided to come back to this city. It wasn't home. If he was honest he no longer knew where home was. After so many years wandering around the corners of the world he had lost his heart out somewhere at sea or perhaps in the skies.

A letter had brought him back; just words. It seemed bizarre that scrawled hand writing, on almost crumpled paper had pulled him across oceans. In the envelope she had returned the gold band he had given to her on their wedding day with an explanation for why it was no longer right for it to belong to her. She had fallen in love again and hoped that he had too.

He had tried many a nights to write a response. To put into words just how much it pained him that he could no longer call her his. How he couldn't, wouldn't, attempt love again. And how when the letter had arrived at his door he had hoped it was one telling him to come back home- that they could try again. But the words didn't feel right. They sounded far too bitter. They were far too selfish to send.

He kept it in one of the pockets inside his coat, trapped there alongside the necklace she had left on the nightstand the last time they had been face to face. He had known from the moment he had picked her up from the airport to when he watched her pack her bags that they were falling apart, that it was over. They were on borrowed time.

He did the right thing. Or at least that is the thought that would comfort him as the morning light indicated to the empty bed. Sometimes he would still make two cups of coffee in the mornings, leaving one to go cold on the counter like she used to do. But as he stood in the centre of the Las Vegas chaos feeling more alone than he had done in years it occurred to him that perhaps he should have fought harder for the only thing that in his life that didn't make sense.

They were an odd fit. They always had been but still they fitted. They weren't unhappy. They had been disconnected. It was fixable.

These thoughts and so many others like them would plague him as the night skies refused to bring comfort. He had grown to find that he had lost interest in some of the things that had captivated him in another life. It was the start of depression concerned friends would say but it didn't mean much because he had never experienced such a pain that could not be unchanged. You risk everything to be in love. And in the end you lose everything you risk.

With his hands in his pockets he walked amongst the people that were seeking thrills as a muted silhouette of his former self. He watched the couples with tangled hands as they lazily strolled along the street, those alone and in awe, the groups of friends searching for an escape from the daily gruel of everyday life. He didn't know where he was going but he knew that he would find it eventually.

He hadn't told anyone that he would be returning. He didn't want to see the pity that clouded the eyes of old friends about his current state. It was a natural response to divorce or so he had been told but the ones he could not shut out. It seemed strange to him how he found himself crippled by the loneliness but at the same time pushing away the very few connections he still had left. Burning bridges had becoming something of a talent in the recent past.

His feet seemed to stop of their own accord, as the smell of chai and spices coloured the air with memories. He had enjoyed how quiet the small tea room had been when he had needed a place to think. He ducked inside the door chiming as opened, the aromatic smell surrounding him like the dessert heat completely enveloping him. He quickly sat down not wanting to drawn attention to himself.

It was from the perspective of a shadow that he saw them. Two lovers pressed against each other in the dimly light corner. Their fingers tangled together like roots, their eye focused on each other as words were muttered between them. They could have been talking about the chores that still needed doing at home but it was as if the most captivating words were held by each other. He noticed a glint in her eyes that he hadn't seen before.

She looked different. There was something about the light that surrounded her. It was with a sinking feeling he realised she looked happy.

He had never told her about this cafe. He hadn't thought that she would have liked it, quick, strong coffee was more her style not the carefully brewed tea's they offered here. But then again he had never given her a chance to tell him what she wanted. He had made assumptions. He had made their decisions. And in the end it hadn't been for his benefit or hers.

The man she was with was someone he recognised; her best friend, her solace. And it was more than obvious he treasured her as much in that moment as he had done when they had first met. The way he had looked at her had not faltered like he had done. His want to make things work had not been lost across country. And in the end he was still there. He was the one she woke to in the mornings.

He stood up, carefully buttoning up his suit jacket before offering her his hand. Without resistance she let him pull her to her feet, momentarily unsteady on her heels. She wore a dress that ended just above her knees, the thin material moving with her, it was so uncharacteristic of the person he knew her to be. But it occurred to him that perhaps he had never noticed; that there were things about her that he should have known.

There were so many new things he studied about her from a distance but beneath it all he could only remember the woman he had known. The tough, sarcastic, smart woman that had become more to him than he ever imagined another person could be. But perhaps she had gotten tired of being strong. And she simply just wanted to be.

He got down on one knee, his eyes shining with nervousness and admiration as his numb fingers fumbled through his pocket finding a small velvet box. The ring glistened and shone as it was presented to her, the words on his lips inaudible from where he watched them. But they were enough.

She gave a small nod, a tiny gesture meaning so much. She watched carefully as he placed the ring on her finger his own hands shaking slightly as he touched her. He stood up as their lips collided, the world stilling and slowing around them.

As he watched on he realised that perhaps the only person he had to blame for the current state of affairs was him.

After all he was the one that let her walk away.


End file.
